No more words
by Little-Firestar84
Summary: In the dim light of the late night, sitting on an old ottoman, he stares at her naked form, and his mind wonders, to present and past, to her and the ring on his finger, things that are, were and will be.


**Disclaimers: **No, nor the characters or the show belong to me...

Note: translation of my Italian work "No more words", because I really felt like having someone telling me what they thought about this little piece- hence, being a translation, it follows more the style that I settle when writing in Italian, so, understand the differences. Also: where there's lack of commas, I want to let you know is wanted, because it's the written characterization of a rushed thought- kind of breathless, you know?

anyway... Let me know!

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**_No more words_**

In the dim light, you study her naked body, wrapped in the thin sheet of beige linen, and, sitting on the ottoman close to the bed, you start wondering.

You knew, you've always known, that what happed just last night was inevitable, right from the start. Eight years ago, you told yourself that you were ready to resort to anything – sex included – to control and manipulate that irrepressible cop; then, though, something unexpected happened, something that you would have never taken into account, and it happened so slowly that yourself didn't realized what had occurred until it was too late to stop , to go back.

You got fond of her – first as a friend, then as a surrogate family, until the awakening of the desire - hidden to the majority, for long to yourself as well – of being something more for her; you allowed yourself to get bewitched by that woman, you allowed her to seize everything you were, to steal a part of you, she made you hers, heart soul mind.

You wanted- you still do- make her lose control, make her understand there's more in life, so much more, and that's what you want to be for her, that "more", you want for her to belong to you as you belong to her.

You study her, so sweet, frail, delicate, tiny… a precious porcelain doll, the opposite of the woman she had always imposed herself to be in daylight, when everything and everyone are ready to have if for her, to judge her; you smile sadly, turning the ring still firmly on your left ring finger, and you stare intensely first at her, then at it, sighing, lost in your thoughts, lost in your own world.

You wonder if she is troubled by it, knowing - and seeing first hand- that you still wear the promise of eternal love made -and received- by a woman who has left you, once and for all, from almost a decade. You well aware that a part of her is upset by it, even if she'll never admit it at loud, scared to hurt you, to push you away, but you still know it, because in the instant your bodies joined together, one inside the other, your fingers interlaced unconsciously to weld furthermore that bond, and traitorous tears had left her eyes when the cold metal had skimmed over her hot skin- you kissed them all away, those tears, erasing them from that beautiful face.

You don't wear the ring for fidelity towards Angela – you are not that desperate to believe you've cheated on a woman who's been dead for almost ten years – and it's not even any longer to keep at bay potential "predators" – many women don't care too much, when not at all, if their potential next prey is married or not.

It's about fidelity to your promise. Until you'll be wearing that ring, you'll remember, you'll know, that you'll have to fight, to go on, until Red John will still be free.

Free, you laugh at the thought, looking yet again at Teresa, you'd like to tell her that you moved from "until he'll be alive" to "until he'll be free" for some kind of epiphany, but it's not the case (you can limit who you are for her, but you can't change, not completely, not deep inside); simply, you understood that, considered the outcome of you last, failed plan to stop Red John once and for all, working on your own isn't an option any longer. You need their help to accomplish it, and if you want that help, you'll have to work according to their rules- you can accept it, mostly if the return is that you and Teresa now belong together heart soul mind and _body._

In bed, Teresa gives a start, moving restlessly in her sleep, waking up then tense, eyes wide open, breath dead in her throat for a cry that menaces to manifest itself with an explosive force when, with one hand, she skims over the other side of the bed, void cold abandoned; you, at her back, you don't see it all, but you _know, _you understand her thoughts, few words that she silently repeats in her soul like a mantra, again and again and again_…. He used me he abandoned me it had been just sex for him he doesn't care about me he doesn't love me I'm just a rebound I'll never see him again I ruined everything….. _

Your gaze is filled with tenderness for that woman, sweet frail delicate tiny a precious porcelain doll, and whispering her name you stoop over her, slowly kissing her raven- dark hair, a kiss that is caste but full of meaning, full of passion and not only lust.

She turns in her bed, Teresa, and stares at you; her eyes are still wide open, but in surprise, and she cries, and her tears are tears are of happiness and joy; you allow your body to fall limb at her side, nestling yourself at the side of the feminine body, holding her so tightly, so close, that you could pass for a single entity, if not for the thin sheet under whom she is still resting and that is still currently dividing you two.

You don't talk, you let that you presence, your body explain yourself, and you let that Teresa's breath, getting calmer and calmer, cuddled you, until the both of you are back asleep. The time for words will come, it will come and it will be until the end of days if she'll want to, and you have every intention of doing everything in your power to make her want so… as much as you want it.


End file.
